


Truce

by were_lemur



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, Gen, Mark of Cain, Platonic Cuddling, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/were_lemur/pseuds/were_lemur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam catches up with Dean, he's too sick to fight him.</p><p>Dean's big brother instincts kick in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truce

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt by kansaskissedlips over on Tumblr: 
> 
> Ugh, demon!Dean, though…knowing that one way to relax Sam, to make him feel better when he’s ill…is skin-to-skin contact.
> 
> Literally just stripping their shirts off, Dean holding him close.
> 
> PLEASE.

When Sam catches up to him, he's worn out and exhausted and obviously in no shape for a fight.

Not that it stops him from trying. But Dean ducks the splash of holy water easily and sidesteps Sam's wild swing and doesn't even have to trip him because his own feet do that, and he goes down.

Sam drags himself to his feet, and Dean sees that his teeth are chattering.

"Are you sick?"

Sam opens his mouth, but before he can answer, he starts coughing, so hard it doubles him over.

"Oh, this is no fun," Dean says.

"What?"

"You, about to pass out on me before I can kick the crap out of you." For a moment, he's ten, maybe eleven years old, not in the swanky hotel room but in a crappy motel that he and Sam had been left in and Sam had been coughing like that and he'd wondered if even if he kept the monsters out, he would lose his brother anyway --

He wasn't that weak, scared little kid anymore. He was strong, better than human -- and here was his little brother, so sick he was nearly falling over.

"Truce?" he says.

Sam looks up at him.

"You can't even stop coughing long enough to stand up straight. Beating you right now would be like Bambi vs. Godzilla."

He picks up the phone. "Hello, room service? Could you send up a bottle of NyQuil and a six-pack of ginger ale?"

Sam keeps staring at him, confused. "Why are you doing this?"

"For the same reason I don't stomp kittens to death. It would be boring and pointless."

Sam shakes his head slightly, as if he's trying to clear it, but if the way he leans against the chair is any evidence, it does more harm than good. The space that should be occupied by Sam's retort is instead filled by his wheezing.

The knock on the door tells him that room service is here. "Look. Tamper-proof seal. Perfectly safe, especially since poisoning people has never been my style."

Sam -- the idiot -- shakes his head again. Brings his fists up to fight. Dean pours a shot of NyQuil; more than the recommended dose, because there's more of Sam than the average patient.

"Come on, Sammy. Time to take your medicine."

Instead, Sam lunges at him, and this has clearly crossed the Event Horizon of Stupid. Dean lets him come, steps out of the way, and then steps up behind his brother and gets an arm around his neck.

All without spilling a drop of NyQuil. "Damn, I'm good," he mutters. 

Sam opens his mouth to say something; Dean pours the foul-tasting cough syrup in instead and puts a hand under Sam's chin to hold his mouth shut and keeps it there until he feels him swallow.

Then he releases Sam. Sam slams an elbow into his ribs, pushes free, and staggers, coughing. But he still turns around, running on sheer stubbornness now. 

Sam pulls out another flask of holy water. Before he can uncork it, Dean grabs him by the collar and drags him onto the balcony. "Look down," he orders.

"What?"

"If I wanted to, I could splatter you all over that street. Right now, you're too weak to fight me" and I don't want to fight you, Sammy, why can't you just leave me alone?

"I don't understand. Why don't you do it, then?"

Dean realizes that Sam has started shivering again; yanks him back inside, closes the sliding door, and turns him around. Sam is still flailing, and the NyQuil has started to hit, and suddenly Dean is tired. For a moment, all he wants is to be in some cheap crappy motel room with his brother. 

Sam is swaying on his feet now; he's still fighting to stand, fighting to fight, fighting just to keep going and suddenly Dean can't stand it anymore, because this is still his baby brother and he should be in bed, not going toe-to-toe with a demon.

Dean drops and grabs Sam by the ankles, tips him over onto the bed and pulls off his boots.

"What are you doing?"

"Remember when we were kids and you got sick?" He throws Sam's boots across the room, out of reach, and then takes off his own boots, then his t-shirt. Sam sits up, so Dean takes the opportunity to strip Sam of his plaid shirt and t-shirt.

"Have you gone insane?" Sam demands.

Ask a stupid question...

"I used to take care of you when you were sick, Sammy." He remembers the way his little brother used to curl up against him, shivering and touch-starved. They both had been, back then; their father had never been particularly physically affectionate.

"What, you think you can just feed me NyQuil and hug it out and it'll be okay? You're a demon, Dean!" He has to pull himself up on the headboard to get himself vertical, but he does it.

"I'm declaring a truce. Just for tonight." He wraps his arms around Sam, then twists around and lets himself fall backward, using his own body weight to get them both on the bed. Then he just lies there, his arms locked around his little brother, and at first Sam fights, but then his struggles slow, and then stop.

Not long after, he hears a snore.

Dean relaxes his grip, but keeps his arms around his little brother. He doesn't sleep anymore, but he feels himself drifting anyway, oddly content for the first time in longer than he cares to think about.

It's a temporary lull, the calm in the heart of the storm, but as his brother's long hair tickles his nose and he snores in his ear, he's grateful.


End file.
